


Rising to the surface

by m_findlow



Category: Torchwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 04:35:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13380300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_findlow/pseuds/m_findlow
Summary: Ianto unexpectedly has to confront the past





	Rising to the surface

There'd always been the risk that it would come back one day, Jack had told him all those years ago. Post traumatic stress did that. His mind had suppressed the memories to protect him until such time as he was ready to face them. Even so, after so long, he hadn't really ever expected them to return now. Surely if they were going to come back, they would have. Not now, after all this time.

He'd been asleep. He thought he'd been dreaming, but then the dream had turned ugly. This was no dream, it was a nightmare. Every moment of that fateful day was playing out in sharp clarity. Things he hadn't realised that had happened, all now showing themselves for truth. He knew now that this was no figment of his imagination. This was real. This was his memories returning. This is what had happened.

That he'd woken from the nightmare without thrashing or screaming was nothing short of a miracle. As he turned over, he saw that Jack was still sleeping peacefully beside him, oblivious to the horror that had just unfolded right there in their bed.

Ianto was beside himself with the tumult of emotions vying for prominence. In his rational mind he knew he should just wake Jack and tell him what had happened, but it was his irrational mind that took charge. He suddenly knew he didn't want to be there. How could he? He was in bed with the man that had murdered her. He was in the place he'd tried so hard to run from. He felt trapped, knowing that a few levels below him were vicious aliens bent on killing him, and in the room he was in right now, the man responsible for them being there. Everything bad that had ever happened was because of Torchwood, and here he was, slap bang in the middle of it. He had to get out. Now.

He quietly eased his way out of the bed, careful not to disturb the man who was fortunate still to be asleep despite the heavy panicked breathing and the loud pounding in Ianto's chest. He hurriedly grabbed for whatever clothes he could put hand to, a long sleeved top and his jeans, pulling them on quickly and silently. He didn't waste any more time and grabbed his shoes, scrambling up the metal ladder and out of the tiny bunker before he could alert Jack to his movements.

He was halfway across the hub before he realised he was still scampering in bare feet, shoes still clutched nervously in his hand. He sat on the sofa, hastily tugging them on before disappearing quickly and quietly out the back exit and down to the car park below.

He could have stayed in the car and waited to get his breathing under control and for the moment to pass. Instead he knew he wanted to be as far as possible from here. He fumbled with the keys, his hand shaking as he tried to force the key into the ignition, feeling a tiny wave of relief when finally he felt the key slide into the lock and twisted it, the engine rumbling into life. He wasted no time in navigating the circuitous car park and pealed out onto the road above.

Getting out of the city was easy. This late at night there was hardly another vehicle on the road. It was probably fortunate, since he admitted he probably wasn't in a fit state to be driving in the first place.

At the first sound of voices issuing from the car radio, he switched it off. It didn't matter now, there was no point in switching to something else, he just wanted them gone. Their voices sounded scratchy and metallic, just like the ones in his new memories. Even after he turned it off, he could swear he could still hear them echoing in his head. Delete, exterminate, delete, exterminate.

His foot pressed down on the pedal just slightly heavier than was appropriate given the requisite speed limits, but as he hit the highway heading out into the valleys, he found it pressing deeper and deeper into the floor. He rolled down the window and let the cold night air rush inside. The car had felt devoid of breathable air, he felt like he was choking on it, so he was grateful for the icy blast that poured in, whipping about his head as his speed climbed higher and higher, just as the car climbed higher and higher into the mountainous countryside. Whatever part of him was skillfully keeping the car on the road as it skidded around the tight bends at incredible speed was completely detached from the part of him trapped in repeating loops of terror and carnage, blood and death.

He had no idea how long he'd driven, nor how far the winding roads had actually taken him from the city limits, but eventually the anxiety wore out and he pulled himself over at the top of the valley and stepped out of the car. He walked across the road and over to the lush green hillside that swept down into the tiny village that sprinkled down its length. He collapsed into the cool damp grass and let the memories wash over him. Even with this much distance between him and the places they'd happened, they were as vivid and horrifying as ever.

He sobbed as they played out in his mind, filling in the gaps in his recollections of that day. He was forced to watch her beautiful face once more, twisted in agony and bleeding. It felt like he had fallen in love and lost her all over again, the pain returning afresh. Why was this happening now? Why now when he'd finally found himself a new life back in Cardiff, and with Jack. It felt like the memories of his new life were in fact distant, and that the ones of London, and of daleks and cybermen, were the new memories that took their place.

He sank further forward onto the grass and wished he could have let them stay buried. If he thought about it, he probably had some retcon in the car. Could he take it and remove the memories? Just enough retcon for one day. Would it work? Or would he have to take enough to wipe out the last four years? He could live with losing a day, but he didn't want to forget everything.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, crying and keening and staring out into space, but it must have been hours. Eventually the darkness began to give way to the first glimmers of the approaching dawn. He could make out the tiny outlines of the double storey houses that lined the valley walls now, just slightly, a handful now twinkling with tiny lights issuing from their windows. That was when he heard the car approaching on the lonely road, the growl of its engine so familiar.

He didn't look up or back, or react in any way to the sound of the door slamming shut, and the footsteps approaching him in the quasi darkness.

The figure sat down beside him and wrapped a thick coat around him. The scent of it was so rich that just for a moment he felt his old self again. It wasn't until a few minutes later that he realised just how warm the coat was, or just how cold he'd been. It wasn't quite winter yet, but he'd been dressed in nothing more that a long sleeved t-shirt. He realised he wasn't even wearing any socks with his sneakers, he'd been in such a rush to get out.

Jack wrapped his arms around the figure huddled in his coat, saying nothing for a long time, just holding him tight. The touch alone seemed to convey some implicit understanding of what had happened and why he'd left.

'They came back.'

'I know.'

Jack recalled the stricken look of his lover on the CCTV when he'd began his search for him, finding nothing more than a cold spot in the bed where he'd once been. Somehow in his mind he'd surmised what had happened. Very few things could have attributed to a reaction like that. He too had though that perhaps fortuitously, that they might get lucky, and that the memories might have stayed buried for all eternity. Then again, he had first hand experience and knew that bad memories had a way of surviving through the years. Like drought hardy plants, they persisted without water or nurture, and bloomed once more when the first rains soaked their roots, reborn again. Good memories withered and faded, but bad memories stayed with you always. 

'Are you okay?'

'It feels like I lost her again.'

Jack said nothing. He loved Ianto, and he knew Ianto loved him. He also knew that he'd always love Lisa too. You couldn't unlove someone like that. Not ever. He understood what that felt like.

'She was lost a long time ago.'

'Then why does it hurt so much?'

That Jack didn't have an answer for. He wished he knew.

'Losing someone you love always hurts. It doesn't go away, it just gets forgotten for a time.'

He'd lost love a hundred times over. It was true he'd forgotten a lot of the pain of saying goodbye, but never the person. He couldn't afford to. Long years had taught him that the only way to see out the endless eternity of immortality was love. Without love there was no point in living. Pain was inevitable, but loneliness was worse.

Ianto didn't reply, but he pressed himself closer to Jack. He loved them both equally, but he was glad Jack was here now with him as his grief returned full force. He understood now why the memories had returned. Now he was capable of seeing them for what they were, and how they'd lead him here. All his years at Torchwood had shown him many things, and now that he witnessed those memories again, he knew there was nothing more he could have done. He'd lost his love when the cybermen had taken her away from him, but in doing so they'd set off the chain of events that lead him to Jack. He'd lost love that day, but he'd also gained love.

Perhaps this was the universe's way of telling him that everything would be okay in the end.


End file.
